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“This man didn’t know all the particulars, but he claimed that Sir Alfred used your mother to get information about her husband, the count, in exchange for money.”
His parents and their damned debts. He furrowed his brow. “There were times during my childhood when she would leave abruptly. Sometimes for weeks. My father claimed she was visiting family. When I was a boy I believed him, but later, after I learned the truth about their relationship, I assumed she had been with her husband. And that those visits led to their eventual reconciliation.” He shook his head, still trying to make sense of it all. “Could she really have beenspyingon him then?”
“It’s very likely, yes.” Rafe then hesitated.
“What?” Alec could barely get the word out. He would not like whatever came next.
“Well, according to this source, eventually the count discovered her. And he was furious. I’m not exactly sure how it all came about, but in the end she was forced to return to him. For good. He called it a sacrifice.”
A sacrifice?
It felt as if someone had punched a hole in Alec’s chest. “But why did she never tell my father any of this? He died thinking the veryworst.”
“There’s only one person alive who can answer that.”
Sir Alfred.
Rafe had more to say, but Alec heard none of it. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he was already on the bustling street. Already racing toward the train station. Already too late.
Alec braced a hand against a wall, struggling to breathe as his entire world crashed all around him. This massive deception had shaped everything he ever believed. Tainted every relationship he ever had. He silently raged for the years Sir Alfred had stolen from him, for his family torn apart, for his parents’ doomed love—all to sate the infinite ambitions of powerful men.
But the very darkest thoughts were saved only for himself.
For no matter what had happened decades before or what choices his parents had made, he alone had driven away the woman he loved that morning. He alone had uttered the words designed to break her heart. And he alone had turned his back on the one person who had been there, always, when he had bothered to let her.
Lottie didn’t want a place in society, a circle of blue-blooded friends, or a man of impeccable pedigree. She wanted onlyhim. And Alec hadn’t bothered to listen. Had never once dared to consider that he could be enough for her, that his illegitimacy didn’t matter, or that he could be wrong about what she truly needed.
Just like his mother before him, he had thought of his leaving as a sacrifice that would only benefit Lottie.
But Alec and his father had suffered unimaginably when Maria Petrucci left.
What if they both had been wrong?
Alec felt achingly empty, as if someone had carved out his insides. He walked around for hours trying to make the hollowness go away. But no matter how many steps he took, it remained. By the time he found his way back to his flat, the daylight had begun to fade.
The feeling only intensified as he trudged up the stairs, entered his front door, and made his way to his bedroom. Without thinking he hauled off the sheet covering his father’s desk and nearly wrenched the drawer out entirely. His trembling hand closed over the miniature. Over the face that had haunted him as a boy.
He had seen his father’s image a few times over the years—always unexpectedly while perusing newspaper articles or magazines. But never his mother’s. He took a breath and turned it over in his palm. The hollowness grew and grew inside him until he crumpled to the floor under its great weight. He had forgotten everything about her, and nothing at all. As if time itself was immaterial. Meaningless.
He stared until his eyes watered, devouring every tiny brushstroke. Every curved line. Every gradient of faded color. Until he could take no more. Then he gently set it down beside him and pressed the heels of his hands against his damp face. And there on his knees in a room bathed in twilight, Alec finally wept.
Chapter Twenty
Does London always smell like this?” Valentina asked, wrinkling her nose as they exited the first-class carriage and stepped onto Euston Station’s busy platform.
“Oh no,” Lottie replied. “It’s usually quite worse.”
Valentina’s horrified expression inspired Lottie’s first genuine laugh in days and reconfirmed that hiring her had been an excellent decision. Her previous maid had left service to marry last year, and Lottie hadn’t been in a hurry to find a replacement. But the vibrant young woman had proved to be a more than capable lady’s maid—and an even better traveling companion. Without her, Lottie doubted she would have ever made it to England, let alone remembered to change her undergarments. Valentina had appeared in Alec’s flat shortly after he left and found Lottie in a heap of tears. After letting loose a string of insults directed at the absent Alec, Valentina took charge and had her changed and packed in less than an hour. The journey home had passed by in a blur of European landscapes while her battered heart and mind replayed her last moments with Alec.
What we had was not a true friendship. It was an obligation. And I was glad when I could finally be rid of it.
Just as Lottie began to sink into that familiar pit of despair, a tall, slender man appeared before them, having shoved his way through the crowded platform. It was Mr. Wetherby, her uncle’s secretary. The man had the ear of Sir Alfred and far too many opinions about her life. He was also the nephew of her erstwhile chaperone, Mrs. Wetherby. He shared his aunt’s pallid complexion, light blue eyes, and sharp nose, along with her penchant for criticism and Lottie as a favored target.
“Miss Carlisle,” he said, bowing from the neck. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” He looked past her. “Where is Mr. Gresham?”
“He stayed in Venice. My maid accompanied me.”
Mr. Wetherby barely acknowledged Valentina and didn’t bother to hide his relief. “Might I askwhyMr. Gresham did not accompany you?” he asked after a moment.
